


You Can't Live Until You Die

by Blacklace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Fanart, Implied Relationship, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of PTSD, Modern Era, Recovery, Starbucks, Stucky - Freeform, but of course these two idiots are in love duh, marked teen and up because of the language, more of a friendship thing really, there isn't really a slash in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacklace/pseuds/Blacklace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wouldn't know what pain is.<br/>He wouldn't know what being alive is either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't really a plot here, more like some thoughts and general ideas I wanted to get out of my head.
> 
> But I wanted to dedicate this story to a special someone. Mostly because I suck at expressing anything at all and also because I really just wanted to say thank you. For listening to me, understanding, making me laugh and helping me forget. Yeah, it's not much, but I believe we both could find a part of us in this. Or you know, whatever. This is for you and only you.
> 
> Also this fic isn't beta read, so all mistakes are mine. I'm gonna edit it once I don't have the tunnel vision I have now. So please be patient with me :) (i know some senteces might be a little tense and weird...)

“Hey Buck,” a cheery voice. Laced with sleep and worry. Blending together with the white noise that filled these days and turned everything gray and dull.

“Hi,” came a flat reply.

It was one of the cold autumn mornings when the damp chills went straight under your skin. Outside the mist was laying lazily on the ground. Trees in the parks were wet and full of colors, despite the fact that life was slowly bleeding away from them. They smelled like rot and decay to the asset. With something familiar about that heavy scent still lingering there. Comforting even. It reminded him of the ever present death and the peace it would bring along with it. The smell was sickly sweet, unpleasant in the hot fall days. The asset would think of dead bodies. Lying on the battlefield with the stench of death waltzing around him, bringing the nauseating reek of rotted meat. It took him weeks to get used to that smell. And even then Bucky could never be sure whether it would make him sick or not.

Meanwhile, he could hear Steve rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen. He kept his face closed, even though his senses were alert. Trained to stay still for hours, he closed his eyes. The noises stopped abruptly.

“Did you stay up all night?” the white noise was deafening.

There was bitter emptiness inside his heart. The blunt darkness draped over it like the softest, most precious vail. There was silence, vast like the deepest abyss you could remember staring into. The peaceful moment was shattered with quiet steps when Steve put a soft blanket around Bucky’s shoulders. It wasn’t until then that Bucky realized, how cold he was. The air in their apartment almost freezing cold, but to him it felt like a warm spring breeze. Nothing he wouldn’t be used to after years of training by now. Pictures of endless landscape covered in snow flashed in front of his eyes.

_The never ending cold._

It was set deep within the soldier. His system so used to all the cryo-freeze and eternal sleep, that he found it strange to suddenly live in a world that was all but cold and dark.

“Damn it,” a dull voice. “Why does this window keep opening?” Steve muttered something under his breath. There was a muffled click as he closed the window, followed by footsteps and more rustling.

“Bucky, seriously,” Steve sighed and sat down on the floor in front of the soldier, keeping a safe distance.

The asset shifted his stare from the blank spot on the wall and moved it to Steve. He met his eyes and vaguely thought they were pretty. Full of life and gleaming blue color. Like Russian sky during the longest day of summer. It brought twisting feelings laced with uncertain memories back to Bucky’s mind.

_Россия. Ты всегда будешь в моем сердце. Красивая. (Russia. You will always be in my heart. Beautiful)_

It reminded him of all the scars he had on his skin. Uncertain, but still there. Scars he does not remember receiving. In fact, Bucky didn’t remember any of the injuries that caused him those scars. He could only guess which ones were made by knife or no-rifling slugs. Some of the lines and dots were angry red, still fresh and fading. He wouldn’t remember those either. The rest was bleached white and still fading, like the winter landscape of his beloved country. Like the scar tissue around his left bionic arm. There were only dull impressions of cold and apathy left behind them. He couldn't care less about the stories behind them, wanted to forget they were ever there.

_The Winter soldier wouldn’t know what pain is._ They would make him forget. Every single time.

“You need some sleep,” it was soft and pleading. Something within Bucky told him it was worry that was written on Steve’s features. He couldn’t bring himself to speak up. He knew his own eyes were vacant. He wished he could change that, as much as he could change his body language or facial expressions. But no matter how hard he tried, his ghostly eyes always gave him away. It was shame mixed with anxiety, making him feel like utter failure to the outside world. All he could ever be and all he was crumbled and turned to dust in the past months.

“Come on Bucky,” Steve reached out and placed his hand over Bucky’s.

The asset flinched, the touch almost scorching on his cold skin. He looked up. Let himself be lead away. The process so familiar to following orders from faceless people. Shuffling his aching feet, Bucky studied the floor carefully. There was something good about it, despite the sick memories twisting his stomach.

There was something broken within the soldier. He didn’t know how to function anymore. With every new day things would become a little worse. Sometimes a little better, depending on his state of mind and the memories that would come back to him. He could see faces of people he had killed over the past years. But without the puppeteer the puppet couldn't be led on any longer. The strings would be cut loose eventually. It was only a matter of time until he would figure out how to detangle all of them.

_He wouldn’t know what being alive is, either._

He had to think twice before allowing himself to be led to his bedroom. There was a basic instinct to fight whomever would try to touch him, but also a painful need to be told what to do in order to feel safe. Deep down he understood there wasn’t any real threat. They would have killed him him if that was what they were after. The clock in his room showed it was 6:15 in the morning.

_So I stayed up all night after all._

Time became irrelevant. It was never of importance, in the first place. Minutes passed and for the soldier they were hours, while sometimes they would turn into seconds. He would spent hours sitting still, staring. Steve would often worry, ask what’s wrong, if Bucky needs anything. With every silent reply his resolve would break a little more, until it was wearing thin. He would resign, eventually. Everyone would.

The thing with Steve was, however, that he might resign, but he would never give up. He would sit down, keep Bucky a company. With time, he blended into another shadow that was in the corner of his field of vision. He was a blunt presence next to him, burning like a furnace, but not quite melting the ice that was the Winter soldier. It seemed nearly impossible to do so. Like one small source of heat could ever melt down an entire iceberg.

_Yet he’s under my skin._

He followed orders, even though they were reduced to mere suggestions. The soldier needed to be told what to do in order to function these days and Steve was well aware of that.

“Get some sleep, okay?” he said as he put blanket over his friend. “I’ll be here if you need anything,” a promise.

Steve noticed Bucky’s sleeping schedule was fucked up long ago. He understood. Returning from war wasn’t easy for any soldier. They would all break out in nightmares or panic attacks from time to time. Images flashing, turning and twisting in a time capsule inside their heads. So he would stay nearby, listen to Bucky’s breathing; sometimes reading a favorite book of his to Bucky or sketch.

It was the soft dancing of the charcoal on the paper that would often rock Bucky to sleep. The warm presence next to him that endlessly calmed something within him. Steve was like a piece of puzzle that completed the soldier. A final complement that gave his mission a greater purpose. His voice with steady rhythm and sweet melody could send Bucky to places that felt so familiar, yet were so strange and new to him. Steve would tell him stories from their lives back before the war. Show him old pictures he took from the Smithsonian, even some of the official war records he sneaked out from archives.

_Why is it so strange?_

Bucky traced every move Steve made in his presence with his eyes, well aware of his careful steps. He wondered whether there will be a day when everything finally clicks together. If there is ever going to be a morning when he doesn't wake up drenched in sweat. Would that pain ever go away...?

“Would you mind?” Steve asked quietly, gesturing towards Bucky’s bed. The asset shook his head, the movement barely there, but Steve got used to it long time ago.

Bucky found himself leaning towards the burning source of heat next to him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, let the tension go away. Inside, he melted a little more. The soldier opened his eyes as the warmth poured in his bloodstream, flooded his senses. He looked up to meet the sky-blue eyes that were watching over him, ever so kind and loving.

_I remember watching over you._

“Stay?” he barely recognized his own voice when he finally spoke up. It was met with an honest smile. Forgiving. He knew Steve wouldn’t judge him. They were both broken in ways not many people could understand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” a new wave of warmth washed over the asset. “’Cause I’m with you till the end of the line,” he said. Words dripping like honey, soothing. He had that little smile on his lips, eyes sparkling like fine vine. Bucky decided to believe him. Nodding curtly, he rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes again.

Soon he would fall asleep. The heat and soft scraping of charcoal against paper would lull him to sleep. There wouldn’t be any nightmares this time, no nerve-wrecking memory flashes or cold sweat. He would wake up with a blank space in his head. With fresh memories coming back to him.

_Steve. I’m supposed to look after him._

He would stumble out of his bed, kicking the sheets to the floor. He would rush to the living room with racing heart. Trying to get to the window as fast as he could, expecting to see the old Brooklyn he grew up in.  _They grew up in._ But something else crossed his path. Something new struck his eyes - the future.

It wasn’t frightening anymore. He saw his place, nice and clear, along with the whole purpose of his being. Dedicated and free. The blood and darkness vanished with every other step he would take. Forward.

“Bucky?”

_He knew him._ That little punk he was so scared would get hurt. The small boy who used to be so sick, but was so brave in heart. How could he ever think he was alone in this? How could he forget?

"Steve..."

 

 

 


	2. Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for the story You Can't Live Until You Die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for my amazing friend who decided to give my latest work an artistic touch.
> 
> You can find him on facebook and check out some of his other amazing work including photography and graphic design. Just so you know who's responsible for this: https://www.facebook.com/jakubspirikcz?fref=ts  
> (you can't insert links in notes, so you can also check the text of the chapter)

It doesn't really matter whether you've read the story or not. This work is just plain awesome and I still don't get how people do these. Just let it sink in.

Link for the artist [here](https://www.facebook.com/jakubspirikcz?fref=ts), because it wouldn't let me post it in the notes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are welcome <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3  
> If you are waiting for my other work to be finnished (Reach for the soldier), it's gonna take me some time since school went crazy. I absolutely didn't expect so much work and stuff happening this semester. So please, please be patient with me, I love you all!


End file.
